


Mirrorball

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Druk | Another Round (2020), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Tempo (2003)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Martin decides to open a dance studio, but the building he has his eye on for the project also has another potential buyer: a brash and flirtatious young American named Jack Ganzer.
Relationships: Jack Ganzer/Martin (Druk)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Martin stepped into the empty building with an excited smile, shy though he was alone. The dream of what this place could become meant enough to him that he blushed, taking in the sight of sunlight pouring through the windows to highlight the perfect check-in desk, the gleaming hardwood floors. He wandered into the big space in the next room, which would be the ideal dance studio with a long wall just waiting for mirrors and a barre, and felt a shiver, like a premonition of a future he would once have considered impossible. Embracing his dreams had never been easy, nor had stepping out of his introverted comfort zone. But dancing made him happy and he wanted to share his gift with others. He needed something to keep him inspired in the wake of a hurtful divorce; he couldn’t just give up and collapse into himself as he once might have. Most of all, he wanted to make his sons proud, and Tommy, too.

The dream seemed alive in this room, ethereal and almost touchable. Martin had just enough savings to invest in the new business, and he could do it nights and weekends, keep teaching his normal hours. The boys were getting older now, and he didn’t see how it would overextend him to spend what would have been free time on an activity that brought him joy, might do the same for others, might even prove lucrative. Just imagine if Martin made enough of a success of it as a dance instructor and studio owner that he could quit his day job! But now he was letting his daydreams spiral. He hadn’t even spoken with Lene, the real estate agent who was selling the space. For all he knew, he would be far from the only one interested in buying it.

Hard to believe this used to be just another typical bar in a town whose main streets were well-studded with drinking hubs. The building had been cleaned and refurbished with fresh paint jobs, this particular room in a lovely, warm teal color which Martin might even keep if he made it his studio. And the floors just seemed made for dancing, nothing else. 

Whimsically, he drifted back into his fantasy, distantly aware the agent would be there any minute and he might be interrupted in this silly spectacle. But then, it was hardly the first time Martin had broken into a public dance performance. This felt, at least, quiet, private, and his own, a moment of reflection. He tried out a few simple steps, a one-man waltz, gracefully moving to and fro, imagining a favorite love ballad was playing and that he had a class of couples behind him following along with the demonstration. He could teach couples to ballroom dance for their wedding days! Wouldn’t that be grand? Martin would feel special, proud and useful, and--

And someone _was_ watching, he realized, making the next turn in the dance, then coming to an uncoordinated stumble of a stop, his eyes lighting on the young man in the doorway. He wasn’t sure, all of a sudden, if it was the surprise audience or the stranger’s appearance that caused the stumble; it wasn’t only in his feet, it seemed, but in the almost harshly sweet clutch of his heart. He should laugh this awkward moment off, yet he felt his face turn red as he cleared his throat, then straightened his posture. Didn’t quite know what to say or do.

The young man, who looked about college age, had bright blue eyes, soft, pale skin with rosy cheeks, plush lips and a tousled head of brown curls. There was an intelligence, a curiosity and an unmistakable aura of mischief in his demeanor, and he was absolutely _staring_ at Martin, as if he had seen a ghost.

Well, perhaps that’s just how it felt, walking in on some old guy dancing by himself. Martin felt chaotic and foolish. “Er, Um...hej?” He greeted, accidentally making it sound like a question. “Undskyld, jeg vidste ikke, at andre var her.”

The stranger smiled, wheels clearly turning very fast in his head as he formulated a reply. In the meantime, he raked his striking turquoise gaze up and down Martin again, as if the sight of a fifty year old man with silver hair, creases by his eyes and dressed unimpressively (flannel, tan trousers, sneakers) was something special. 

“Hello! I think you said…” The young man replied carefully, “You said, ‘sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here’?”

“Oh, English?” Martin answered, “It’s okay, I can speak English.”

“Sorry, why did I just assume you speak English?” the stranger ducked his head with a self-conscious laugh. “Or that we should speak English to each other because that’s my first language when I’m in _your_ country, for God’s sake--”

“It’s totally fine,” Martin assured him. “I don’t mind at all.”

Their voices echoed from the walls of the otherwise empty building; their eyes stayed locked together. 

“I did learn Danish specifically in order to be able to move here and communicate,” the young man laughed again, and it was such a lovely, musical laugh, warm and something Martin would like to hear more of, would like to make happen by saying just the right thing to bring it on. 

“But I’m really nervous and out of sorts today, coming here, I’ve been wanting to see about buying this building,” the stranger continued, and Martin thought _oh no, we both want to buy it,_ when why should that matter? They didn’t even know each other. But it made him more anxious in a different way. After a few moments of this man’s company, Martin didn’t want to compete or argue, he wanted...what did he want?

“And then when I saw you dancing, I got even more nervous,” said the young man, smiling now, setting off a strange tickle in Martin’s stomach and a skip in his heartbeat.

“I’m a dance teacher, or at least I want to be,” Martin explained, flustered, “I wasn’t just randomly dancing about.”

“It was amazing,” the stranger told him, taking a step closer. He had his hands hooked casually into the pockets of his blue jeans, and the dark purple long-sleeved shirt he wore had a low collar which showed off his neck. Martin never noticed other men’s necks, but this one was delicate and pretty in a way that made him feel unexpectedly protective.

“Your dancing was amazing. I’m Jack, by the way.” He held a hand out to Martin, who gripped it briefly to find the skin was warm and soft just as he had imagined. 

“Martin.” Looking intently into Jack’s face, Martin swallowed, trying to think of something clever to say. “Thank you” was all he came up with, but that was okay. Jack’s eyes lit up and he grinned.

“People must tell you that all the time, you move so beautifully. You looked…”

Jack paused, as if unsure he should continue. His cheeks got pinker and Martin couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

“It’s easy,” Martin assured him, trying to help Jack feel less nervous even as he grew more so by the moment. “Anyone can learn to do it, that’s hopefully why I’m going to be here. Well, if you don’t outbid me, that is.”

He experimented, giving Jack a teasing wink that brought a naughty smirk onto the younger man’s lips.

“Show me how easy it is,” Jack requested. “I’ve got two left feet and I’m pretty damn sure I’d be your worst pupil.”

“You haven’t seen my friend Peter try to dance,” Martin laughed.

Well, the agent wasn’t there yet, and they _were_ present here and now, and although it made the tickling sensation in his stomach turn into a hot twinge that traveled lower to think of holding Jack in his arms, he stepped forward, lifting his brows with a smile of invitation.

“See, all you need to do is place your hand in mine, then your other hand right here on my shoulder,” Martin guided. 

Jack smelled nice, he must be wearing some cologne which combined notes of mint, lemon and vanilla, tantalizing Martin as much as the heat of his slender body drawing closer and the cute laugh he released as they got into position. 

“Please tell me I follow your lead at this point, because I’m completely clueless,” Jack pleaded, looking up at Martin with amusement mixed with sincere admiration. 

“Yes, just follow along with my footwork, let your body relax into my lead.” Martin smiled.

“I think I can do that,” Jack said more seriously, and Martin’s heart thudded so loudly he thought it must be audible outside himself.

“Okay, so just hum your favorite slow song and we’ll get started.”

“Hmm. That’s personal,” Jack remarked, teasing, a sparkle in his eyes.

“The waltz is nothing if not personal. It’s a valuable tool to have in your dancing arsenal. Anyone you’d like to dance with would be impressed if you can do it well.”

“Alright, here goes.” Jack firmed up his hold on Martin, fingers perched on a strong shoulder with that same curiosity again, feeling out the way they were together, so quickly entwined somehow, nothing they could put words to, but nothing they could ignore.

Jack started to hum, and Martin used the melody to guide their movements as he showed Jack how to begin the simplest version of a waltz. He counted out the steps at first, but it kept making Jack lose track of where he was in the song, and that made them both laugh and start over. 

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Jack kept the song going with an adorably thoughtful pinching of his brows and a determined set of his mouth. 

As they turned to the song, Jack started singing a few words under his breath, “ _Come away with me and we'll kiss...on a mountaintop... Come away with me and I'll never stop loving you_ ,” and the sound of his voice was barely there, half-conscious, somewhere immersed in the connection forming between them, a hum vibrating in Martin’s soul.

“You must be the dance instructors,” Lene the realtor said in Danish when she arrived in the doorway smiling and seemingly thinking nothing was odd about the two men dancing here.

“Oh! Uh, he’s the dance instructor,” Jack said stringing the words together in reasonably correct Danish, stepping back from Martin as the older man released him with a pained feeling of regret and near-desperation to have him close again.

Jack was so lovely, attentive, seemed so kind, burning with an ambitious interest and lust for life that touched on the same in Martin. How was it that Martin had never felt this sort of attraction for another man before, and now it was _all_ he could think about? 

“I’m uh, cafe? I mean, I’m Jack, and this is Martin, he’s the dance instructor.”

“So you said,” Lene replied, friendly and unfazed with her white-blonde bob and grey suit. “Though I never would have guessed you two weren’t partners as you dance so well together.”

Surely she only meant professional partners, but Martin’s cheeks flamed as Jack wiped his palms on his jeans, as if they had suddenly gotten sweaty. 

“You want to open a cafe here?” Martin asked Jack in English.

“Yes, it’s perfect,” Jack said quickly, staring at Martin as if he’d forgotten Lene was there after doubtless preparing for the meeting for some time beforehand. “Isn’t it?”

They stood with the realtor patiently waiting between them as the tension in their gaze grew nearly unbearable. “Yes, it really is,” said Martin.

***

Lene gave them a tour, explained the costs involved with the purchase, and handed them each a card for when they were ready to call her with their offers.

“Well, how are we ever going to resolve this?” Jack asked Martin as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

It was a charming spring day in this cute, quirky little town where Jack had been so excited to maybe find a new home. He ought to be admiring the boutiques, pubs and bookshops as they began walking side by side, going nowhere in particular and unwilling to part yet. But he was admiring Martin’s profile instead, gazing at chiseled cheekbones, striking amber eyes and full lips, a perfect jawline covered in light stubble, thinking little more than _shit, shit shit, shit shit he’s gorgeous, what do I do?_

“I suppose we could become bitter rivals,” Martin proposed, looking so cheeky that Jack wanted to jump into his arms right now and kiss that smirk off his face. “I could fight you tooth and nail for the building.”

“That’s one option. Even though I think it’s kind of absurd on your part, seeing as the place is obviously ideally suited for a cafe, and this neighborhood needs one. Gotta offset the 900 bars along the way here with some good old fashioned coffee and pastries, don’t you think? It’ll be good for all the hangovers.”

Martin laughed, a throaty sound that went just right with the sexy rasp of his voice, sending a pleasured tremble through Jack. Imagining that voice in his ear under erotic circumstances was enough to get Jack’s blood pumping hot and way too fast.

“Says you,” Martin countered, “If you ask me, the place is destined to be a studio. And there isn’t one anywhere in this town at all, whereas we do have several very nice cafes a few streets from here.”

“‘Very nice,’” Jack repeated, “My cafe wouldn’t be ‘very nice.’ It would be extraordinary. I’ve been waiting for this chance over so many years, working on my recipes. I can make eclairs and macarons and tarts that would blow your mind, and I just got this amazing cappuccino maker…”

“I believe you,” Martin smiled, pausing outside of a bookstore, taking in the sight of Jack’s energetic “off on a tangent” face as if he found it delightful, instead of tiresome and annoying like most people. “And although we hardly know each other, I feel we could be good friends. That’s why I’d rather not be your bitter rival.”

Jack felt the heat in his own cheeks and the gallop of his heartbeat, registering the fact that he didn’t seem able to control his physical reactions to Martin’s presence. Dammit, he didn’t come here to try and start yet another doomed romance, and that’s all that _ever_ happened when he fell for someone, and he couldn’t fall for this guy. Not this quickly, not when a business hung in the balance, not when he had decided to take a few years of being single to find his true self, to be completely independent for the first time. This was the worst thing that could have happened, and he couldn’t resist trying to keep it going, either. _Glutton for punishment._

“Hey, do they have coffee in here?” Jack inquired, nodding at the bookstore. 

Martin glanced at it and nodded, “Yes, and tea, lemonade, muffins, even, I think.”

“Let’s go in and talk it all out then, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Martin held the door for Jack like a gentleman and the younger man wanted this to be a date so badly that it hurt, a pleasurable pain, something he needed another hit of. 

“Now you can check out the competition,” Martin suggested as they wound their way through the selections of used and new books to the back of the store, where there was a counter with a barista serving drinks and snacks.

“I thought you were the competition,” Jack retorted slyly, earning himself another one of those sexy smirks. 

“Hello, Martin,” said the barista, just like several of the customers they had passed. 

It was a small town, yes, but everyone seemed to do more than just know Martin; they took special note of him, stopped what they were doing to take the sight of him in with smiles, and Jack couldn’t blame them. He understood it completely, but what threw him for a loop was that Martin seemed so completely humble and clueless about the way he affected other people.

All Martin had said was “I’m a history teacher, and in a community this tiny, of course I’ve had many of their children as students, or else they’ve been in my class.”

A history teacher and a wonderfully talented dancer, all in the same handsome, sexy package? Martin was clearly way out of Jack’s league, smart, accomplished, yet so mellow and unassuming.

Martin said something to the barista in Danish, among which the only part Jack really understood was “two cappuccinos,” which meant he really needed to get studying the language again. 

_If only Martin could give me private lessons. Help me learn to move my tongue properly to pronounce the words…_

His head was up in the clouds, and he could kick himself for being so flighty and such a total imbecile when it came to attraction, but he was having so much fun at the same time. It always started out like this. It never ended well. Jack had to wonder if he was poison, the element that ruined every relationship.

While he was off in dreamland, Martin had paid for both of them, which Jack only realized when the older man passed him a cup of steaming coffee with foam attractively curled at the top, and a small plate bearing a muffin that smelled beguilingly of fresh fruit and chocolate.

“It’s white chocolate raspberry,” Martin said, nodding to the muffin. “You’re not allergic to any of that, are you?”

 _And he’s ordering for me, paying for me, that’s fine._ Jack pasted a helplessly goofy smile on his face. _Daddydaddydaddydaddy_ \--

“N-no, I’m not, this is perfect, thank you, Martin,” he babbled. 

For fuck’s sake, he was going to forget _English_ next at this rate. Martin grinned, showing off pearly teeth like fangs, and Jack could have fainted. The older man looked so pleased to have gotten it right, and to treat Jack.

“So how does an aspiring cafe owner from the States end up choosing this town of all places?” Martin asked, blowing on his drink.

Jack’s mouth went dry as Martin’s lips puffed out to cool the coffee, then wrapped around the cup to take a sip. He had never been so jealous of a damn cup in his life.

 _This is so stupid, you are not going to get yourself all infatuated and twisted up inside over this guy. This was not the plan._ Just to prove to himself how much of a perpetual fuck-up he was, Jack decided not to sugarcoat his journey to date in his explanation.

“To be honest with you, I’ve had a rough go of it all my life. Nothing left for me in the States, and I fucked up every good thing that happened to me in Paris. I hurt two people I cared about, lost almost everything, put my life in danger over selfish schemes, and barely managed to scrape through in one piece. I came away with some money, just enough to start over and finally open this cafe I’ve always wanted, and Denmark looked like a quiet, refreshingly quaint prospect. I really don’t want to be anywhere near bright lights, salacious lifestyles or cause trouble again. But part of me is afraid that’s all I’ll ever be: trouble.”

After lobbing this maudlin, yet entirely true speech at poor Martin, Jack sighed dejectedly and sipped his coffee, certain this explanation would repel the man from wanting to know him.

“Jeez, I don’t know why I went off like that,” Jack said into the thick silence that followed. Afraid to meet Martin’s eyes, he stared down at the coffee and muttered, “Guess I’m a person with relatively few selling points, if you know what I mean.”

“Actually, I was just thinking that you’re brave to be so honest.” Martin reached forward, lightly cupping Jack’s face so that the younger man looked up, startled, into sensitive whiskey-colored eyes. He carefully swiped at Jack’s upper lip and murmured, “You had some foam there.”

“Thanks,” Jack said with his heart in his throat. 

He wanted to suck Martin’s finger into his mouth so badly, he wanted to suck more than that, and his speech had only made the impulse stronger by evoking Martin’s admiration.

“And I was thinking that I can relate,” Martin continued, unwrapping his muffin, his big fingers moving deftly.

Jack had never seen such beautiful hands before, and the idea of them on his body was dizzying. One of the first things he’d checked for on Martin was a wedding ring, with a crazy whoosh of relief hitting him when it wasn’t present.

“What’s this all about?” Jack asked with a grin, lifting Martin’s hand gently to indicate the chipped black nail polish he was wearing.

“Oh, that,” Martin chortled, “My older son painted my nails to look like his so I could be cool as well. What do you think, did it work?”

“Definitely.” Jack very much enjoyed the way Martin froze and looked at him in bewildered bashfulness for a moment. So cute. He wished he could flatter this handsome sweetheart of a man so often that Martin felt his worth, but he was getting way ahead of himself yet again.

“See, you’re so sweet,” Jack went on, “You can understand why I find it hard to believe you’d relate to my bleak and twisted past.” Although he imbued the words with humor, Martin saw right through the attempt to play off his pain as comedy.

“I’m serious, I really can relate to what you said,” Martin corrected him with gentle firmness. “Last year, I came to a difficult crossroads in my life. I’d frittered away years on depression over the chances I never took; it messed up my marriage. My wife ended up having an affair, which…” Martin sighed. “Sorry, this is getting too personal, isn’t it?”

Jack placed his hand briefly over Martin’s on the table. “Not at all. Please go on.”

“Which broke my heart, but maybe I had it coming. Those lines are all blurred,” he shrugged. “I started drinking much too heavily with a group of my friends, and it’s a very long story but we thought it was justified. I learned a lot about how far I can take it and when to stop, but there were good times too; I reconnected with my students and my own kids. And I found my passion for dance again, which I hadn’t done in many years. There were also terrible times: I lost my best friend, and my marriage crumbled finally. The only consolation I can give myself is that I tried to save it, tried to keep Anika happy once I saw she was slipping away. Even though it was too late, I gave it everything I had.”

“That’s important,” Jack nodded, “You can always remember that you did your best. And I’m so sorry about your friend. Life is fucking hard and messed up, you gotta go easy on yourself.”

“Do you ever say those words to yourself?” Martin asked softly.

“I think my past sins run a little deeper than yours.” Jack shook his head.

“You don’t know that. Don’t be so sure. And how old are you? Early twenties?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five,” Martin said very reflectively. “Your life has just gotten started. You have so many years ahead of you to learn from past mistakes, and if you ask me...you’re ambitious, intelligent, funny and kind. You have a lot to offer, and I even bet your baking is great enough to put this place to shame.”

“Well,” Jack answered, beyond overwhelmed, “I’m not sure about the rest of my supposed good qualities, but I can definitely bake.”

Martin chuckled. “I think you should prove it.”

“How do you mean?” Jack asked, brow furrowing as the playful dance of Martin’s eyes over his features made butterflies swirl in his stomach.

“We’ll have a little contest, you and I, to determine who should be the one to buy the building. I’ll dance for you, and you bake me something, whatever is your very best recipe. I can ask Lene if we can use the building itself, and if the kitchen can be up and running enough for the purpose.”

“How do we judge the winner?” Jack wondered, by now far more focused on Martin than the building, and frustrated with himself for the fact.

“The one who gets outshone is simply going to have to be honest about it,” Martin determined thoughtfully. “I don’t think that will be a problem for either of us, do you? We’ve seen from our talk here today that we are both quite open.”

 _Not open enough to tell you I’ve been salivating over you from the first moment I laid eyes on you._ Jack nodded a little too fast, “Of course, that won’t be a problem. And if you win, I’ll be happy for you. I’m sure I can find another spot for the cafe on the off-chance I don't annihilate your fancy footwork with my tasty baked goods. What’s meant to be will be.”

“Do you really believe in that sort of thing? Destiny?” Martin smiled as if entranced by wondering.

“I think I do,” Jack admitted.

“Well then,” Martin proposed, putting his hand across the table to shake Jack’s. “May the best man win.”

Sure, it sounded enough like a contest and a fair, fun way for friendly new acquaintances to settle such a matter.

So why the hell did it feel so much like they were planning a date?


	2. Chapter 2

“Where’re you going, Dad?” Jonas asked sleepily, covering a big yawn as he reclined on the living room couch. 

As usual, Kasper sat on the floor in front of his brother as they watched the latest episode of their favorite science fiction show. They really were two of a kind, and Martin was proud of how bonded the brothers were, that they enjoyed spending time together even as Kasper advanced into the “cool teen years.”

“I’m just going to meet up with...a new friend,” Martin explained as the boys noticed his attire, black clingy long-sleeved top and black sweatpants with his usual well broken-in sneakers.

“Are you going to dance?” Jonas asked.

“Is it a date?” Kasper put in.

Martin laughed. “Yes,” he pointed at Jonas, “And not exactly,” he told Kasper. “We’ll see.”

“Good for you,” Kasper shrugged.

“Have fun, Dad,” said Jonas, snuggling deeper into his blanket.

“Hey, your eyelids are droopy,” Martin smiled at his younger son. “Don’t stay up too late. And boys, there is pizza--”

“Pizza in the freezer,” they chimed in unison, making all three laugh.

“Go out and enjoy yourself, Dad, you deserve it,” Kasper encouraged.

Martin’s heart warmed as he gave his sons a big smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you both later, love you!”

“Love you, Dad,” the answer came back in lazy but sincere unison as he turned to go.

***

Martin grinned out of sheer, possibly idiotic, reflex when he arrived at “their” building to find Jack waiting outside right on time, a box of baking supplies beside his feet on the sidewalk. 

Jack leaned against the beige wood wall of the building with a cat-like smile, wearing a white shirt with the first two buttons undone and skinny-fit khaki pants that clung to his sexy body like glue, plus a pair of white Converse sneakers. He raised his eyebrows and gave Martin such a coy look, it sent electric arousal coursing through the older man right away, an intensity he’d never felt before. 

Trying to convince himself he must be lost to some ill-advised, midlife crisis-driven, inappropriate crush with no real depth to it and no chance of leading to anything, he shook Jack’s hand again, resisting the urge to crush the younger man’s body to his own, seal their lips together, grope Jack’s supple ass, back him into the building and…

Then what? Martin blushed. Perhaps he should watch some gay porn before continuing this friendship much longer, just on the slim possibility anything did happen, because he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do if things progressed, and…

“Nice to see you again,” he greeted, feeling ten shades of awkward at least.

“My dear, bitter rival,” Jack winked, stroking his thumb along the side of Martin’s hand as the clasp of their fingers lasted longer than platonic meet-ups would suggest. “Shall we?”

“Indeed we shall,” Martin agreed with his heart performing vast somersaults while a confused series of sultry images cascaded through his mind.

He unlocked the door with the keys from Lene and they strolled in as he struggled to contain instincts that were growing stronger, more animalistic by the second. It was hard to understand how he knew these things, but he knew he wanted to be on top of Jack and hold him down, thrust deep inside what he felt would be slick, tight, velvety heat and _claim_ this naughty, teasing, beautiful boy for his very own, make Jack whimper for him all night long, begging for more of Martin’s--

“So, the kitchen is right through here?” Jack intuited as Martin flicked the lights on. The younger man nodded towards a hallway to the right.

“Yes, why don’t you get started on your recipe, and I’ll set up in the studio there?”

Martin pointed towards the room where they met as Jack gave him a saucy eyeroll.

“Maybe that’s your studio, or _maybe_ it’s the main dining room of my cafe,” Jack smirked.

“We’ll see,” Martin smiled back, feeling tingly, happy, and not at all as one should feel when about to compete for a building that could house a very important passion project. The new passion blossoming in his heart threatened to overpower all else, which was so unlike Martin. It wasn’t sensible, it wasn’t sure. What was he doing, where was he going?

Martin’s version of “setting up” for this dance only involved placing his phone and speakers on an obliging card table in one corner of the room, and adjusting the lighting in his “studio” to ideally soft and welcoming. There was a single chair ready for his audience member, and a thump of expectation in Martin’s baffled heart.

Clearing his throat and running a hand through the hair he’d carefully slicked back for the occasion, he went to the kitchen and found Jack placing his ingredients out on the counter: eggs, flour, a big shaker of cinnamon, a bag of shiny, fresh Ingrid Marie apples.

“Hey you,” Jack nodded at Martin as he added a package of fresh creamery butter and a bag of sugar to the counter, followed by a large circular pie pan. “Come to survey the competition again?”

“I have.” Martin spoke the words in his deepest voice as his smile faded into a more seductively serious expression. He approached Jack slowly, then leaned his elbows on the opposite side of the counter and leaned in a bit. “Is that considered cheating?”

“You don’t have a prayer of defeating me, so no, survey away,” Jack said, a little nervously as Martin thought, giving him the feeling he had outdone the young man at his own flirtatious game, at least for a moment, a moment of sweet power that made Martin lick his lips.

He maintained the smoldering direct contact with those wide, pretty blue eyes and watched the way Jack swallowed, which set off another series of erotic fantasies, only this time his mind was ready. He was getting used to this attraction, and it made the excitement build hotter. 

“Um, believe it or not,” Jack said, his voice a little shaky under the heat of Martin’s increasingly shameless gaze, “This is the recipe that has consistently made people the happiest and earned me the most requests since I started baking as a teenager.”

“Really?” Martin looked with interest to the ingredients, continually as engaged by Jack’s sparkling personality as he was by the young man’s physical beauty. “Is it an apple pie?”

“Mmhmm, it was my grandma’s recipe. She was the only one, well. The only one in my family I ever really related to or connected with,” Jack recalled, and Martin pulled up a chair at the center island while his competitor continued talking, all the while expertly mixing ingredients in a big blue bowl. 

“She sounds very special,” Martin prompted, wanting to set Jack at ease in sharing his past. He got the feeling these weren’t matters Jack allowed himself to share with many people. He could see the storm clouds in Jack’s eyes, the burdens of the past unresolved by any release or catharsis, and it made him want to give Jack the chance for that relief, to find a safe place to fall and be vulnerable.

“Yeah. Uh, she was the best person I ever knew. And when she passed, I sort of ran away from home, forever. I couldn’t bear to be there without her, when everyone and everything else about my life there was so cold and...I sort of scrambled around Europe on funny little scams and taking advantage of how people reacted to my looks, until I crash landed in Paris. Thought I’d set down some kind of roots there,” Jack pondered, plugging in a hand mixer. “But God, I was so wrong. I screwed that up, too, worse than all the rest of my dangerous games.”

Martin chewed his lower lip in contemplation. “You weren’t the only one there, Jack. You shouldn’t shoulder all the blame of--”

“Martin, no matter who gets the building or however long we’re friends, however long I stay here before it all goes up in flames like always, you should know I’m bad fucking news, okay?” Jack’s eyes were brighter than usual and wet as he blinked and swiped at them, annoyed with himself. “It’s _always_ my fault. I can’t have nice things.”

“Hey.” Martin rounded the counter and placed a consoling hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You deserve nice things. Okay?”

Jack shook his head, then twisted away from what could easily have become a comforting embrace. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll get myself together and come back to finish this. Once it’s in the oven, you can show me your dance.”

“Okay, but Jack--”

“The pie will need about an hour to bake,” Jack sniffled. “I’ll be right back.”

***

Martin tried to lighten the mood with innocent small talk when Jack came back and dutifully completed the pie preparation. It was so obvious he had made this same recipe countless times, and it was second nature. Despite all of his past stories of being an unforgivable con artist, Jack’s heart lay so firmly and genuinely in wanting to cook for people and make them happy, bring smiles to his customer’s faces. Despite his listless and destructive wandering, all Jack wanted was to belong somewhere. Martin’s heart ached for this unique and fascinating young man, and he knew he should hold back his craving to offer more comfort. 

_He’s half your age. Has more in common with Kasper than with you, and...you’d be taking advantage of him, imposing your own desires when he’s so soft and needy, it can never happen._

Martin made this resolve within himself to keep it platonic, determining to use his high regard for Jack to edge out his own mounting libido and stirrings in his heart that were downright romantic. 

He kept the conversation amusing and easy with tales of his life as a high school teacher.

“So you’ve finally mastered the art of lecturing,” Jack smiled as he slid the pie into the oven and undid his black apron, folding it and setting it on the counter, looking more comfortable now that they had chatted innocuously for a bit.

“I _think_ so?” Martin laughed, “My students have been more tolerant with me, at least, since I started trying new things. It seems to be a balancing act between my lecturing and asking them questions to get them involved. I suppose it was good that I started learning their names and making jokes.”

“You’re shy, though,” Jack smiled in a way that seemed fond, the pink in his cheeks increased by the heat of the oven. He moved closer to Martin so that they were face to face, lingering beside the counter, and his eyes darted down to Martin’s fingers as they twitched slightly, longing to touch, but staying by his side.

“It couldn’t have been easy for you to find ways to put yourself forward like that, keep them educated _and_ entertained,” Jack added.

“It wasn’t,” Martin admitted. “It probably comes easier to someone like you, more extroverted, free-spirited. I admire that about you.”

“I can keep you educated, Martin,” Jack murmured, heartfelt emotion seeping into the coquettish words as his dark lashes fluttered. “And entertained.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment.” Martin couldn’t help himself. He gave Jack’s lovely curls a quick ruffle, unprepared for the quickening inside him that followed. 

“But now,” he added, withdrawing his touch even though he was dying to give this sweet, dangerous boy’s hair a firm tug, “I think it’s my turn.”

***

Martin knew he was blushing and awkward again when they got to his maybe-someday-studio and he gestured to Jack, “Please, have a seat.”

But once he turned the music on, he let go of his inhibitions, closing his eyes and becoming one with the melody, the beat, the brisk and fanciful twists and turns of his jazz ballet number. The lyrics of the song were all too telling to the latest catastrophe of his heart:

“ _No I  
I won't send this Valentine  
(Oh my)  
Violets are blue  
(I won't send it)  
And if you don't receive this Valentine  
(I won't pretend that)  
Doesn't mean that is ain't true  
And I'm not thinking of you_”

The female singer’s lush voice traveled over each word with poignancy, and Martin let the words seep into his understanding, into his ongoing journey towards finding what he really wanted from this life, plus the bravery to ask for it. 

He fueled every move, though mostly improvised, with passionate fervor, so that when the song ended he was slightly breathless, reminding himself it was quite a lot of exertion for a man his age. Or perhaps it was that he always put every ounce of his spiritual energy into the performance. Every time he danced felt like a plea to the universe to send him love, light and joy, let him give the same to that special someone, his soulmate, the one he was still looking for.

Or was he?

Martin opened his eyes to the sound of Jack’s rapturous applause. The younger man had jumped to his feet with a delighted grin. 

“Martin, that was unbelievable. You are so incredibly talented! I could watch you dance all night.”

The innocently sincere words made Martin feel his heart would overflow with unspeakable longing. He shouldn’t be making comparisons, of course, but Anika had only ever seen his dancing as some tiresome hobby, mildly embarrassing (the tale of his dance on the docks, for example, had caused her to sigh as if he was someone to put up with). To have this sort of whole-hearted affirmation was an entirely new experience, one among many that were driving Martin slightly wild at present.

“It’s no fun dancing all night without a partner, though,” he said, leaning down to retrieve his water bottle. 

“You wouldn’t want a partner like me,” Jack assured him, although he approached Martin with no hesitation.

“Let me be the judge of that, and stop judging yourself so harshly,” Martin said more firmly than he had intended, although he was sure Jack must hear the warm inflection of his command, something very tender and delicate under the stern words. 

“Martin,” Jack shook his head, joining their hands together as the next song began and they went through the steps of the waltz he was still learning.

Again, with infinite patience, Martin guided Jack with a capable lead, never annoyed by the occasional step out of time. “This song isn’t really a waltz,” Jack laughed, and Martin nodded, both of them amused by the way they were sort of jumping through the steps more quickly due to the upbeat melody.

_”If we’re in love, we should make love,_  
If we’re in love, we should make love,  
When will we be lovers?” 

They both turned rather red at the lyrics, although the mix of jazzy instruments and a pop beat kept them smiling and surprising each other, Martin spinning Jack around and catching him with a delighted laugh.

“See, you’re getting awfully good at this,” he told Jack, and Jack turned around, pulling a sort of “dirty dancing” move by ghosting a grinding motion all over the front of Martin’s body, just barely not pushing his luscious ass against Martin’s groin, where the older man’s cock registered intense alertness all of a sudden, filling out and pressing hard against his pants.

He let out a gasp of Jack’s name and pressed his palm over the boy’s fast-beating heart, his breath hot on Jack’s ear. The younger man turned his head, leaning up slightly with that devastating batting of his beautiful long eyelashes, those angelic lips close enough now to--

The oven timer beeped and they pulled away from each other, breathing hard and both looking shocked at their own daring, how close they had just come to crossing a line there was no going back from.

“That’s the pie, it’s ready, I’ll just…” Jack raked a hand through his curls, hair Martin now knew to be as soft as silk. Nibbling his pink lower lip, he allowed his gaze to once again encompass Martin’s whole form from head to toe. This was by now an obvious habit of his, but this time he caught an eyeful when he saw the front of Martin’s pants, where a distinct bulge was impossible to hide.

Jack dragged his pretty pink tongue across his gorgeous lips and sighed, “I’m going to get the pie out of the oven and let it cool for a few minutes. Then...then you can taste it.”

“Alright,” Martin nodded, using the excuse of getting a small towel from his bag to blot his brow, so he could turn his body with its aching, inconvenient need away and get control of himself once more. “I’ll join you soon.”

***

“Oh,” Martin sighed as the most scrumptiously flaky, light but satisfying pie crust melted warmly on his tongue. Slowly, appreciatively he chewed a bite of softly sweet, slightly tangy cinnamon apples, closing his eyes to savor it.

“Well, what do you think?” Jack asked, really just wanting to please Martin, not even caring by now about the contest that was the pretense for this evening’s proceedings. 

God, how he wanted them to feed each other a few more bites of pie and then kiss the taste from each other’s lips, how badly he wanted to climb into Martin’s lap and hump him like a desperate teenager. He didn’t think he could bear much more of being only friendly acquaintances with this man; it was tearing him up inside with not just lustful cravings, but real emotion such as he had never felt for a potential lover. 

“It’s completely perfect,” Martin told him, opening liquid amber eyes to shine beautifully at Jack with a heart-melting smile. “The way this tastes...it’s the best apple pie I ever had. It’s like being inside happiness.”

“Really?” Jack pressed a hand to his heart, nervous aggravation destroyed by a tumult of flattered joy. “Wow, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about my baking.”

“It’s better than that, actually,” said Martin very thoughtfully and specifically, intelligent assessment sparkling in his gaze. “It tastes like being inside hope, the thing that makes happiness seem possible.”

“It’s just a pie,” Jack blushed, twisting the fashionable silver rings around two of his fingers.

“You’re immensely talented,” Martin insisted. “Jack, I really think you’ve won this night. You should have the building.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly.” Jack looked up at Martin in surprise at his own words, honest and real as they were -- where was the old, manipulative, selfish, _predictable_ Jack Ganzer? Why would he ever so willingly allow this building to slip through his fingers when he’d conned and suffered for years to get together the funds to start his own place?

“I...hardly recognize myself right now,” he laughed, his brow furrowing. “I normally would have fought you for this place, or come up with a way to trick you into letting me have it, but I came here wanting an honest competition, which is what we had. I am open with you, entirely. I can’t decide if it’s refreshing or sort of horrifying.”

“Maybe you need to sit with the feeling for a while before you’ll know,” Martin mused. “In the meantime, are you suggesting we have a tie on our hands?”

“I think it’s a draw. Your dance blew me away, and you feel the same about the pie. But what about...what if there’s another way to resolve this?”

Martin shifted his chair at the center island a little closer to Jack’s. “What are you thinking?” he asked, intent on Jack’s words, giving him credit for his ideas in a way people simply didn’t. 

Most everyone treated Jack like an unusually pretty little thing to be used and tossed away, and he used to be cynical enough to say he didn’t care, he would just twist it and use it to his own advantage. He didn’t want any advantages with Martin, no sharp edges to hurt each other with until someone came away victorious with blood in their mouth. He wanted no pain from this relationship that didn’t come from pleasure. He wanted the glow of Martin’s sweet smile and admiration, as long as he could bask in them.

“I’m thinking, a dance studio with a cafe at the front of it,” Jack posed in a lightning flash of inspiration. “Come for a coffee, sign up for a dancing lesson.”

“Come for a dance class, have a coffee and pastry afterwards with your friends,” Martin concluded, looking very intrigued. “What a novel idea, I’ve never heard of a place like that. And if we combine our two businesses…”

“If we combine our two businesses, we each only have to pay half of the cost to buy this place,” Jack finished his sentence. 

By now they were both standing, face to face, drawing closer and closer to each other, caught up in the excitement of the moment and their growing plans. 

“I think it’s brilliant,” Martin decided, “And so are you.”

“Well, I couldn’t have conceived the idea if it weren’t for you,” Jack smiled, floating somewhere beautiful every time the older man complimented him and moved a tiny bit nearer.

Martin smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and as much as Jack had liked his hair messy, it also looked sexy as hell slicked back like that, showing off his sculpted features and deep, enveloping eyes. The black dancing attire he wore emphasized his well-muscled physique in a way that had Jack’s mouth watering all over again.

“I think we have a deal, Jack,” Martin grinned, looking at Jack as if he didn’t ever want to stop.

“Then we’d better seal it like proper gentlemen,” Jack murmured as the last of his defenses fell away.

He leaned forward, closing the last minuscule bit of personal space between them, and brushed his lips against Martin’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The fallout of that kiss between future business partners! Jack being incredibly, unstoppably horny! Martin's going to have quite a lot of fun trouble on his hands.
> 
> I know this is an extremely niche pairing, so thanks for reading! Just can't help exploring the potential between them, and I'm really enjoying writing both of their characters.
> 
> The songs from the dancing scenes so far: in Chapter 1, Norah Jones's "Come Away with Me," and in Chapter 2, "Dear Diary" and "If We're in Love" by Roisin Murphy.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack’s lips were petal-soft, his hand gently clasped on Martin’s jaw stroking the light beard on his face. Martin couldn’t help letting out a rough moan, then kissing back, licking into Jack’s mouth as the younger man opened to him with a happy sigh. The kisses were sugary-sweet with apple pie and the build-up of their mutual need for this which had sparked from their first meeting.

Martin massaged his big hand over Jack’s back, reveling in the sensation of this lithe, youthful body, firm and longing, melting into him so easily. 

“Oh, God, Martin,” Jack murmured as if he was in a daze. They’d drawn back simply to be able to breathe, and Jack held Martin’s face between his trembling, lovely fingers, his expression dreamy and deeply aroused. “Please do that again.”

“Jack,” Martin said in some confused attempt of his conscience to resurface and defeat his sexual instincts and romantic inclinations. “Jack, I have to tell you something important.”

“Mmm, okay, tell me something important and then kiss me three hundred more times,” Jack smirked, his hand slipping from Martin’s face to his shoulder, then feeling up the older man’s bicep, fingers wandering down a defined forearm as every little touch left a trail of fireworks in its wake. 

“I’m…” Martin sighed dejectedly. Obviously, Jack must think he was younger than he really was, or he wouldn’t want him. Once he knew…”I’m fifty years old, Jack.”

“Oh, are you?” Jack asked with a naughty smile, “Well, let me tell you a secret.”

He leaned up slightly to whisper in Martin’s ear, “I like that.” Martin shivered and Jack nipped at his ear before adding, “It turns me on.”

“What?” Martin asked, baffled. “How could it? I’m too old for--”

Jack kissed him hard and thoroughly, gripping Martin’s strong body close to his slender one, and Martin groaned as his cock throbbed in response. How could something wrong possibly feel this right?

“Yes, much too old, how scandalous,” Jack continued, kissing Martin’s neck and slipping a hand under his shirt, coasting his soft, knowing touches all over Martin’s warm belly and up to his pectorals until he found a nipple and made it even harder with expert twists, soft and firm in the exact right measures. 

Martin loosed a long tangent of husky swears in Danish that made Jack giggle and bite at his neck, switching his attentions to the other nipple. The older man dragged a hand through the mischievous boy’s curls and held his face up to his own, so that Jack was forced to pause his devilish actions and stare into his eyes.

The only problem was, Martin couldn’t think of anything to say. He ought to say something sensible, fix this, make it so that Jack would be safe from getting entangled with not only an older man, but also a notorious fuck-up still trying to find himself half a century into his life. 

He just looked into those luminous blue eyes with desperation that widened Jack’s grin.

“ _Wreck me, Daddy_ ,” Jack said with sweet naughtiness, relaxing into Martin’s hold on him as if he was delighted to be disciplined.

“What?” Martin asked, panicking slightly. What was this really all about? He was so confused. He didn’t know how these things worked at all. Did Jack...need a father figure? How could he be that for Jack while also exploring the lust between them? Did this make their attraction even more inappropriate, or more irresistible? What if the answer was yes?

“I said…” Jack smirked again, the personification of wicked youthful beauty.

“I heard you,” Martin explained, releasing him and stepping away, pressing a hand to his jaw in deep thought, although also enjoying in some helpless way the very fresh memory of Jack stroking him right there. 

“What’s the matter, did I offend you?” Jack asked, genuinely concerned now. He wasn’t content with their two bodies parted, though, not one bit. He came right back to Martin like a magnet and wrapped the older man in a hug. Nestling his face contentedly into Martin’s chest, Jack’s smile returned when Martin hugged back.

He was a notorious cuddler, clingy even. Jack loved physical touch, feeling held and reassured and wanted, and he could never get enough. Plenty of past partners had either grumbled or simply kicked him out of bed as a result of this proclivity, but Martin didn’t seem to mind. 

“The Daddy kink thing...we don’t have to do that. We don’t have to do this in any way that makes you uncomfortable. I just want to turn you on, Martin.”

“It isn’t that I don’t like you calling me...um, that. It’s only that...I’ve never been with a man,” Martin admitted finally, caressing Jack’s hair and stroking his back. “I’m definitely very attracted to you.”

“Well, I figured that much out. You were so hard when I grinded against you while we danced,” Jack nuzzled deeper into Martin’s shirt, scenting dance sweat and aftershave with a delirious sigh. 

“You’re bringing out this whole other side of me I never knew I…” Martin shook his head, then rested it atop Jack’s. “I’m not sure how to explain. I really have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’ll show you what to do,” Jack suggested with a boyish bossiness that made Martin’s palms itch suddenly to issue a spanking. 

Now, what was going on with _that_? It was definitely sexual. Martin had never used that kind of punishment on his own kids, nor had his parents done it to him. Sex with Anika had never included any sort of BDSM elements; it had been vanilla and missionary as could be. Yet he wanted Jack from every angle, in every position, and he also wanted...to be called “Daddy” in that cute, sassy voice, to be in charge and lovingly punish Jack’s mischief. It felt like more than desire, also...warm, sweet, _homey_. 

“You’re very, very naughty,” Martin cautioned. “And I’m out of depths.” He stepped back from Jack again with great effort, pressing a hand to his flaming brow. His whole face felt hot, his body riveted tight with lust. “I need to get some fresh air.”

“Okay, then,” Jack agreed, and he set about gathering his supplies and placing them back into the box with an adorably businesslike demeanor that didn’t fool Martin for a second. This boy was merely biding his time until he could pounce on Martin again.

Martin grabbed his bag from the other room, slung it over his shoulder and stepped out into the cool spring evening, then took a few long, deep breaths, waiting in vain for sanity and mature behavior to return to him. 

“Don’t you think I’d do a good job showing you what to do?” Jack drawled, appearing beside Martin as he put the box down just outside “their” building again. This quiet street was empty at the moment except for the two of them.

The box would be safe there for a few minutes, so Jack took Martin by the hand with a laugh and tugged him into a nearby alley.

“I should take you back to my sad little apartment now, but I just can’t wait,” Jack continued as Martin stared at him in yet more bewilderment, his feet rooted to the ground. 

Jack pushed the older man playfully against the wall and pulled his sweatpants down, causing Martin to moan loudly when he was unexpectedly standing there semi-publicly with his pants around his ankles, his black briefs tented by his large, throbbing erection.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Jack clucked his tongue beguilingly, “So big. Is this all for me?”

“Jack, you know we shouldn’t,” Martin said with a hapless groan.

“Mmm. But what do you _want_? Do you want me to touch you?”

Martin closed his eyes. His heartbeats piled and piled on each other, going so fast he thought he might faint; oceans roared through his ears and he tried to think about propriety and good decisions, what would be best for them both. The only thing he _could_ fully understand came breathlessly from his lips instead: “Yes…. _yes._ So much.”

He gasped as Jack palmed his cock through the underwear. “Oh, God,” he threw his head back against the wall.

“Shhh, you’re so worked up. Let me help you. Do you have any idea how good I can make you feel?”

“Jack,” was all Martin could get out, a weak plea as the younger man hit his knees and pulled his briefs down, then let out a gasp of deep approval.

“You’re such a beautiful, wonderfully kind and talented man.” Jack kissed the head of Martin’s cock as the older man threaded shaking fingers through his hair. “And you make me so fucking horny, Daddy. Tell me, how does it make you feel when I call you that?”

“Warm,” Martin admitted on a halting breath as Jack wrapped a hand around his cock and began slowly stroking. “Possessive. Proud.”

“That’s good.” Jack smiled and moved the foreskin back to lap at the head of Martin’s dick. “Hold onto that feeling.”

“Hnnh,” Martin grunted, undone as the naughty boy delicately licked at him, then took his whole thick length between his tight lips, sucking him skillfully, “Jack, Jack...baby. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, Daddy,” Jack sighed. He licked his lips and said gently, “You can take charge and fuck my mouth. I want you to. Please?”

Martin groaned again, trying to keep the ragged noises down although it was difficult to help it. He grabbed Jack by the hair and thrust into the exquisite, soft, hot heaven of his mouth, thinking he would faint from how good just one fucking thrust felt. Jack knew exactly how to drive a man completely crazy, and Martin had never been lucky enough to have someone worship his cock this thoroughly. He went on, releasing quiet, throaty grunts as he cupped Jack’s pretty face and fucked into his warm heat with abandon, over and over until -- soon enough -- the powerful pleasure within him reached its breaking point.

“I’m going to come,” he warned Jack. “Oh, baby -- I--”

“Give it to me,” Jack requested with a heady langor, rosy-cheeked and insatiable. 

When Martin looked at him in yet more confusion, teetering dizzily over the precipice of his orgasm, trying not to explode at the wrong moment, Jack reassured him, stroking his thigh, “Give me your load. I want it.”

Martin couldn’t believe it. He moaned and rocked his hips forward, plunging in and out of Jack’s mouth with increasing speed, ratcheting the tempo back up to the bursting point. Jack wasn’t going to spit it out? All the times with Anika, the way she made a face and a quick excuse to wash her mouth out, Martin assumed his cum must taste really terrible, but Jack...Jack wanted every part of him, that much was clear.

Prideful at his boy’s devotion, Martin finished with a riotous moan he only contained by biting hard on his own hand. “ _Oh, my God_ ,” he trembled as Jack swallowed his seed down with a happy humming sound, then proceeded to lap and stroke him through the continued tremors of his orgasm, stopping right when oversensitivity would have kicked in.

“My God,” Martin sighed, clutching at Jack’s shoulders and yanking the boy up to face him.

Jack kissed his mouth, tangling their tongues, and the taste they shared was bitter, salty, somehow thrilling, because it was naughty, sinful and it was them sharing it. The younger man lovingly tucked Martin back into his underwear and pants as Martin continued staring at him, dizzy.

“I think I overwhelmed you, huh?” Jack stroked his hair patiently and Martin nodded. “That’s okay, we can take it slow.”

“I want to...get you off, but I don’t know how to...um, I’m so…” Martin almost wanted to cry with the combined excitement, terrified joy and embarrassment.

“You don’t have to feel self-conscious with me, Daddy. I’m thrilled about what just happened.” Jack took Martin’s hand and kissed the back of it, then they walked back onto the main street, Martin on wobbly legs thanking God no one had caught them, although the almost displayed nature of the encounter had been giddily exhilarating.

“Look, why don’t you come over to my sad little apartment tomorrow night?” Jack invited as Martin continued looking at him for answers. 

Martin was here in the streets of his hometown, mid-life and never more clueless, relying on a twenty-five year old almost-stranger to tell him what came next. Yet he was still buzzing with so much afterglow, pleasure reverberating through him with a profundity that meant he couldn’t care about his own considerable absurdity.

“I’ll make you a fantastic dinner,” Jack added, stoking the fire inside Martin with a preciseness that was absolutely impressive. He could say the most innocent things, but with the cherubic curves of reddened lips, eyes glazed in tears of exertion from giving Martin the best head of his life -- Jack was nothing less than pure sin.

“Only if you’re the dessert,” Martin said throatily, sliding his hand down Jack’s side to briefly squeeze his hip. His flirtatious skills were slowly returning to him, along with the blood flow to his brain.

“That does sound exciting,” Jack grinned. “I want to send you a few of my favorite videos, to help you feel less worried about things.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “ _Sexy things._ Is that okay?”

Martin’s heart skipped a beat and his groin stirred, ridiculous ambition in his sex drive trying to get him hard again too fast. “Yes, please. That would be great, Jack. Thank you so much for…”

“Being your new business partner? Feeding you the world’s best apple pie?” Jack wondered, tapping a finger to his chin. “Sucking you off in public, Daddy? Don’t you know I wanted to do that the second I laid eyes on you dancing?”

“You’re a very bad boy,” Martin answered with a rough intensity that surprised him. He kept his hands and lips off Jack as now they really were out in the open, but his low, intense words had the desired effect of getting Jack to blush red again.

“I want to do lots of things to show you what happens to bad boys,” Martin added.

Jack lifted his eyebrows. “That’s not exactly encouraging me to be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” Martin smirked.

***

Martin carried Jack’s box of baking supplies to the little unassuming blue car which the younger man was using. “I know it’s a piece of junk, believe me. I used to be a car freak, and the old me would be mortified to be seen driving this.”

“I have the same kind of car, actually, and it _is_ junk,” Martin confided, making them both burst out into laugher anew. “Well, mine’s a few years older and more of a teal but it’s the same otherwise. Will you drive safe?” Leaning into Jack’s ear, he added, cheeks flushed, “Baby.”

“Yes, Daddy. And you do the same. Have a wonderful night and a great day tomorrow. I’ll be counting the seconds until I see you again.”

It wasn’t until Martin walked home and showered, then climbed into bed, still feeling dizzy, that a few more realizations dawned. He felt very tender thinking of Jack’s perfect devotion to making him feel at ease and bringing him pleasure such as he’d never known. The memory of Jack in his arms as they danced and kissed made him almost swoon with secret joy blossoming quicker by the moment.

He took out his phone, sitting in his pj’s and glasses on the bed. “ _You’re so beautiful,_ ” he sent to Jack.

In all the wild times he’d had over the past year involving alcohol, Martin had never felt this drunk while entirely sober, high on life and unexpected new chances. 

“ _Sweet dreams, my handsome daddy,_ ” Jack sent back with a long series of kissy-faced emojis and hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Martin receives a very NSFW email from Jack. What's to be done about that? 😈😉🥰


End file.
